


Nail your colors to the mast!

by ilgaksu, xla_hainex



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 18th century, Gen, Multi, Period Typical Attitudes, Pirates, alternate univerce - pirates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-08-19 17:47:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8219710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilgaksu/pseuds/ilgaksu, https://archiveofourown.org/users/xla_hainex/pseuds/xla_hainex
Summary: The pirates were the blight of the New World, everybody talked about it, but nobody seemed to be able to get rid of them once and for all.And right now Gansey stood at the upper deck of the ship, clutching the bulwark so hard that his knuckles turned white, and watched the black flag being raised on the ship next to theirs. A white raven’s skull in a strange triangle of small bones on a black field - the sigil of Captain Lynch.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Nail your colors to the mast - to make it obvious what your opinions or plans are
> 
> illustrations of the characters are here - http://xla-hainex.tumblr.com/tagged/trc-pirate-au

It was a nice summer day of the year 1732. A small brig with a pretty peculiar name - _Rex Corvus_ \- floated purposelessly in the waters near Boston bay, and had been for about three weeks now. At her prow stood a very tall and very pale young man, who was peering into the spying glass, hoping to spot some vessel worth plundering. He scanned the horizon - west, east, north and south - but saw absolutely nothing.

"Bloody hell, what rotten luck! I shouldn't bring her aboard, that’s that! It's all her fault – a woman on board is always bad luck, damn her!" he muttered to himself, slipping his spying glass back into the inner pocket of his jacket. Although it was a very good jacket, had begun life tailored and expensive and jet black, looked worn already, the cuffs of its sleeves battered, fraying and crusted with sea salt. Not to mention the shoulders, which were scratched and even torn in places. The marks looked as they had been left by some kind of creature, gouged out of the fabric with huge sharp talons. Underneath the jacket was a burgundy-red shirt, opened to the middle of his chest, with two holstered pistols thrown across. His plain black breeches and leather boots – again expensive-looking – appeared as worn as his jacket. He brandished two cutlasses, one hanging from each hip, hooked into a fancy-looking black leather belt with a number of pouches. And as icing on the cake, he had a rather extravagant black hat with two scarlet feathers.

He paced the upper deck, observing the laboring crew. They had become restless, and no wonder. They had left the heart of Nassau three whole weeks ago and hadn't found _anything_ worth plundering yet. Only three small fishermen’s boats, but they had absolutely nothing of real value. Four days ago, they had spotted an English convoy, but they had no chances against two men-of-war, so they’d kept their distance and avoided them.

The young man, the captain of _Rex Corvus_ , knew well enough that if they didn’t find some good prey in next couple of days, there would most likely be a mutiny. In the voting that would follow, chances were good that he would lose his captaincy. He definitely wanted to avoid it and secure his position; one he had originally grasped partially by fierce force and partially because of the fact that it was he who had managed to steal this vessel from Lynch’s Trading Company a mere seven months ago, right out of the Dublin dockyard.

His name was Ronan Lynch, middle son of the late Niall Lynch - head of Lynch’s Trading Company, and one of the most successful businessmen in all Ireland. His family was prosperous, his father’s life story the stuff of fairytales. Niall Lynch was born a nobody, the son of a simple sailor, not even in Dublin but in a village not very far, that was known. How he managed to build that trading company of his, no one knew. There were all kinds of legends, tales and rumors of how exactly Niall Lynch struck gold, but they all were so impossible, so mysterious, none of them even close to the truth. Niall himself had always seemed to be very pleased with this aura of mystery around his person and even encouraged it with some tales of his own.

Those were the days of Ronan’s childhood, bright and happy and long, long gone. He used to spend all his time either playing with his two brothers (one elder, Declan, and one younger, Matthew) or studying: learning how to ride a horse, how to wield a sword; languages, history, geography and navigation. His mother Aurora tried to teach him how to play the pipes, but he never was particularly good at it. He loved to spend time with the animals; he always cleaned and scrubbed his horse himself. But when his father died, his life changed.

Aurora Lynch was naturally a very fragile and gentle soul. When her husband was found in the company office near the docks - his head crushed in a bloody mess of brains, bones and blood, causing a great commotion in society and the press - Aurora completely lost herself in her grief. It was as if, with all her inner light extinguished, she became a husk; a mere sack of bones and muscles. She stopped talking, eating, sleeping - she simply stopped _living_ , despite the fact that she had three sons, one of them was only twelve years old.

It all fell to Declan’s shoulders then, as the eldest: to look after his brothers, to look after their mother, to stand in the head of the Company. Ronan, too devastated with his own grief and too selfish, didn’t care about any of Declan’s problems and new responsibilities. They fought every single day and Declan finally got tired of his behavior, simply sending Ronan to Glenstal Abbey, even visiting him twice monthly just to ensure that Ronan was still there. He spent there three long and very boring years, learning to speak Latin, French, German and Spanish fluently, learning a lot about the world’s history. But when he turned eighteen it became unbearable to stay at the abbey any longer, so one night he ran away. He made a brief stop by his family’s house to take some money and then he headed straight to the docks. He spent about a fortnight there, examining ships and people, their patterns, listening to their talks. He even broke into his father’s – no, not his anymore – into _Declan’s_ office and rummaged through the papers, trying to find some information on the vessels that belonged to the company. To his greatest relief, he found what he wanted. The small two-mast brig named _Corvus_. The following night he met with fifteen bold and reckless sailors, whom he had spotted and persuaded during his days at the docks, and they stole _Corvus_ right from under Declan’s nose. No one aboard the ship had objections on Ronan’s contribution to this whole endeavor; in fact, they voted and made him the Captain.

Ronan had inherited all the Lynch family features: the pale skin, the straight nose, the razor-sharp cheekbones, the thin lips and cold piercing blue eyes. It was said he could stare a person to death with those eyes, if he wasn't in a good mood, and he seemed to be not in a good mood most of the time. As a captain, Ronan Lynch was ruthless, fierce, intimidating and sometimes just devastating. He had a temper that could be blown to hell with the faintest spark, and, despite his young age for a captain and only seven months at sea to his name, Captain Lynch was already notorious. He had managed, like his father, to build himself a name and the reputation of a fearless and dangerous man. When merchants saw his black flag, with its infamous raven’s skull in the middle of a peculiar triangle of bones, they either tried to flee, or surrendered outright. Only few were foolish enough to start a fight and, more often than not, they paid for that with their lives.

But none of that mattered right now. Right now he was on the brink of a mutiny, a real mutiny, and all that because they couldn't find good ripe prey.

"Bloody hell,” he muttered again and went to the topmast.

 "Anything in there, Mr. Peters?" he shouted to the man sitting in the crow’s nest. 

"Nothing, capt’n!” the man shouted back.

Ronan's nostrils flared. He tried to relax and behave as it didn't matter a bit, but damn it all! He definitely should have left her at Nassau! With that thought burning in his mind he almost reached the doors to his cabin when he heard a shout: "A ship! A ship on the south side!"

Ronan closed the distance to the southern side of the ship in the blink of an eye; sprung onto the bulwark, clinging onto the rope with one hand as he pressed the spying glass so close to his eye that it surely should have left a mark. There she was! She was the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen! A three-mast English frigate, merchant vessel - bound from the colonies to Boston, no mistake.

"Get ready, lads! Let's pluck this dove, shall we?" he roared, and the crew answered to him with a strong chorus, a song made of all kinds of agreements and curses.


	2. II

“Raise the sails! But don’t try too much, we need to approach them carefully, not scare them and set them off!”

Ronan barked his orders and went to look for a better vantage point, then pressed the spying glass to his eye again. He’d been right on first glance; the vessel was a three-mast frigate, very nicely crafted. But she was overloaded - he saw it by the level of ship’s draft - and so despite the fact that all her sails were raised, she made rather slow progress. Well, that was more than good. She can’t flee from him, even if she tries.

When Ronan was planning the theft of _Corvus_ seven months ago in Dublin, he hadn’t wanted to steal just _a_ ship. He wanted _the_ ship. He had been well aware of the fact that, with the number of men he planned to gather, he wouldn’t be able to sail some frigate or brigantine, and even if he could steal anything like that, it would be useless and unfit to his purpose. What he needed was a small (but not too small, not like some fishing yawl or ketch) and swift vessel, easy to maneuver, with some firepower aboard already. Two-mast, preferably. And Ronan hadn’t wanted to steal property that didn’t belong to his family. His thorough search had been rewarded with the sight of _Corvus_ a week after his arrival at the docks.

The moment he saw her, he knew that she was exactly what he desired. He hadn’t hesitated a moment when he and his new crew hacked away the ropes that held her to the berth.

And now, when he peered through the spying glass at this ship, _Corvus_ drawing ever closer, he had a similar feeling. He admired the shape of the merchant’s vessel; the quality of craftsmanship, the way her sails were tugged by the wind, he felt the _need_ to have this ship. The crew of _Rex Corvus_ contained twenty-three men including him, but it had become too small for Ronan’s appetites already. He wanted to hunt bigger prey, with more valuable cargo. And, of course, someday he wanted to set sails in search for the treasure. But to aim for a bigger booty he needed the crew to be at least twice its current number and a bigger ship with more firepower. It was just as simple as that. Mathematics.

After some time they drew nearer to the frigate and Ronan was able to read her name – _Pigmalion_. The crew was like a drawn string, everyone waiting for captain’s orders. Ronan stepped in the center of the crowd and at the same moment a huge black raven perched on his shoulder.

“You’re just in time, as always,” he muttered to the bird.

“Oh my, thank you, _captain!_ I always knew that your superstitious grumblings about my presence on this ship were mere pretense!”

 Ronan didn’t need to look behind his shoulder to know who was talking to him. No one else on the ship had such high-pitched voice - nor so much salt in them, honestly. But he had no right to be angry about it, not now anyway. After all, it was Ronan who had asked her to join the crew and become his first mate.

Blue Sargent came to stand beside him and patted him on the back. She was short, especially in comparison to Ronan, who was 6”5 feet tall - tall like his father, tall enough for a legend - but this made her only more dangerous, since she compensated for her small size with an endless amount of sarcasm, taunts and ferocity. She always wore men's clothes (which Ronan personally found smart and practical) in every color possible. Blue adored garish colors and she also loved to mix different fabrics, which made her look like some rainbow-colored parrot. Her hair was always a mess, a tangle of beads and locks of different length, which she liked to keep in place with a scarf across her forehead. Sometimes she wore a hat with a huge plume of fluffy feathers. All in all, she looked rather funny, but not a soul who knew her was foolish enough to laugh at her, because they knew better. And besides, they wanted to live.

“So…I see you gathered the crew for me, what a good man! Alright, lads! Listen carefully now. Everyone needs to be prepared for the fight, as usual, _but!_ Captain Lynch wants this ship unharmed, so we should avoid bloodshed as much as possible. First of all, our Captain will try to intimidate them with his precious face and his startling eyes. If, _and only if,_ that attempt should fail, I expect you to disarm the crew. Don’t kill them, if possible, and try to do minimal damage to the ship! Off you go, take your positions mates!”

The crew scattered to do as they were told and Ronan glared at Blue from above, trying to stare her down completely.

“You know, I could have said all that myself! I was about to, in fact! Do you really need to do it every bloody time? You make me feel like some fucking mute halfwit, Sargent!”

“Sorry, Lynch, I’m just doing my job, you know? My duty. And duty is duty, you know what they say! That’s all.”

“Well, you’re doing it _too bloody well_ then. Next time, I will be the one with the speech, and don’t you dare to interrupt me before I even open my mouth!”

Blue burst out laughing.

“Yeah, yeah. Stop this already, will you? Save some heat for the frigate’s captain! I’m on your side, Mr. Lynch, I’m totally on your side in this!”

She threw up both her arms in surrendering gesture and walked away to the side of the ship. Ronan joined her there, resting his elbows on the bulwark and stooping slightly to talk to her in hushed tones.

“How did you know that I want this ship? We haven’t even talked since the moment the lookout spotted her.”

“By the way you peered into the spying glass. You have a rim around your eye, you know?”

“Holy God, I was that obvious, was I?”

“Kinda. And well, we’re at sea for three weeks now and no one wants to die in the attempt of seizing the ship. It will be better for everyone if you can intimidate the captain and avoid the fight.”

“Let’s hope that he’s heard of the infamous Captain Lynch - and his no less intimidating and fearsome first mate, Miss Sargent.”

Ronan made a mocking face.

“Aye, no less, more even, they say! They say she is the devil in skirts!”

“If they really say so, you know for sure that they’re bloody liars,” Ronan grinned at her, pushing her shoulder slightly.

“And why is that?!” Blue sounded offended and a bit upset.

“Never seen you wearing a skirt. The day I see you in the dress, I will actually wear the wig.”

Blue laughed at that and punched him in the elbow. “That I would like to see, indeed!”

*

One of the most important things during the capture of a ship is the timing of when you raise the black flag. A moment too early and your prey will flee, a moment too late – and they will think you hesitated, that you feel unsure or you’re just an amateur and will give you a fight, most likely. But Ronan wasn’t some inexperienced fresh blood straight from the shore, and he knew exactly the moment when the black flag should be raised - just in the nick of time.

He and Blue stood at the back of the ship, near the flag. Ronan watched the frigate carefully, searching for any sign of resistance and ready to open fire himself, if need be. They were within a musket’s firing range now and the men were waiting for a signal from their Captain.

Beside him, Blue held her breath.


	3. III

Richard Campbell Gansey III was an only son, but not an only child; the heir of all the Gansey fortune, and, all in all, young and very handsome man of eighteen years, obsessed with the sea and sailing. He studied maps and navigation with great interest, but he never had a chance to apply this knowledge in real life. Every time he came aboard the ship, he was only a passenger, one who could only observe but never participate.

The first time he came aboard a ship with his father, he was eleven years old, and they were bound to Charlestown. Ever since that trip, Gansey had fallen in love with the sea and started to dream the dream of being a true sailor someday. He imagined a thousand times the circumstances in which he was not just a passenger on the ship, but a valuable member of the crew. How some ill fate would fall on the ship’s navigator and how he - so young, so smart, so brave! - would help to save the day.

After that first voyage, he started to tag along with his father any time it was possible, and Mr. Gansey seemed to be pleased with this. Gansey’s father was a man of great political influence back in London, and - in the manner of many ambitious and patriotic people of his time - he’d decided to travel to New England to ensure its prosperity and wellbeing. The Ganseys had a great manor in Boston, as well as in London, and a sugar plantation near Charlestown, in the West Indies.

When Gansey was younger he enjoyed his time at the plantation very much; but the older he became, the more he started to understand the cruel principles of slavery, and the more he disliked it all. He utterly despised the idea of racial superiority and the whole idea of slavery; but every summer he traveled to Charlestown nevertheless, desperate to sail.

Besides, Gansey was very clever with sums and had a sharp mind; he was of the age when a young man could start to follow father’s steps. Richard Gansey II made no secret of his most sincere hopes - that his son would follow in his path. But the younger Gansey himself had quite different opinion. He wasn’t interested in politics, trading, plantations. He was interested in history, geography, navigation, seafaring and sometimes in literature. He always pursued his own interests during travels with his father, but he always kept quiet and secretive about it. Gansey could play a proper son of his father in public; he could smile very charmingly and talk very politely and knowingly; he could even pretend that he was interested in the politics and trading, but inside he always felt hollow and empty. He craved the life of an adventurer, always in motion, the dream of a traveler. Gansey wanted to see the whole world with his own eyes, not to sit in some dull and dusty office and listen about some petty nobleman’s troubles.

Gansey was spending this summer at the plantation, as usual; but he'd been in Oxford last year and made some deeply interesting acquaintances. A lot of young people there seemed to be agitated by the topic of slavery and they had begun to brew ideas of abolition. During his first year there Gansey had become involved in the very thick of this group, but he kept it secret, too afraid that his father would discover his involvement and too afraid of the consequences that will follow. But a word slipped here and someone heard something there and suddenly Mr. Gansey was having a stern conversation with his son about his future. Mr. Gansey had threatened to cut all his funds and stop his education; he even went so far as to say that he intended to disinherit Gansey, if he continued this foolish endeavor. His son would not be associated with some _young and foolish rascals_ , not while he lives.

This whole business unnerved Gansey very much. He was unpleasantly surprised by his father’s reaction and even more surprised at the prospect of being disinherited. His father hated to make a scene. But he was Richard Campbell Gansey III and he was not going to be swayed that easily. The whole idea of slavery was so wrong. Gansey felt sick sometimes, both in Charlestown and remembering overseers at the plantation slashing whips across some unlucky black-skinned back. This thing must come to an end and if he could do something, anything to draw the day of abolition of the slavery nearer -  he wouldn’t give up just because his father told him so. He learnt to keep his secrets closer to his chest.

Through all those years of travelling, Gansey never encountered pirates. He considered himself lucky, but he also had been naturally curious. Of course, he saw the bodies of dead pirates swinging on the gallows in Charlestown and Boston; he heard the stories about piratical cruelty and malevolence, his father and all proper gentlemen despised pirates and were very agitated by this particular problem. The pirates were the blight of the New World, everybody talked about it, but nobody seemed to be able to get rid of them once and for all.

And right now he stood at the upper deck of the ship, clutching the bulwark so hard that his knuckles turned white, and watched the black flag being raised on the ship next to theirs. A white raven’s skull in a strange triangle of small bones on a black field - the sigil of Captain Lynch. Gansey had heard about him, and despite the fact that this Captain Lynch had been active for only half the year, he’d become notorious in the waters of West Indies and in the Boston Bay. The rumor has it that he was young, reckless, merciless and quite unpredictable.

Gansey shot a glance at the Captain of his vessel. He stood with a stony face and watched the approaching pirate ship without blinking. He showed no sign of fear or uncertainty on his face, yet all his appearance seemed very tense and stiff. He saw how Mr. Grey approached the Captain, leaned close to him and said something that infuriated the captain completely. He bristled, started to articulate viciously and said something to Mr. Gray, but Gansey could not hear what exactly and he wandered what was the reason for such an outburst. And then, to his surprise, Mr. Grey actually reasoned with the Captain, who appeared to be his elder brother, by the way, and a couple of moments later the Union Jack was replaced by the white flag of capitulation.

While Gansey marveled at the sudden change in captain's behavior and at the reason of it, he haven't noticed that Adam was now standing next to him and eyeing the pirate ship with wary and concerned expression on his face.


	4. IV

Adam Parrish was tall and lean, tanned and freckled from head to toe, his brown hair trimmed unevenly and sticking in every direction. Adam had been born with very beautiful blue eyes, and they were even more beautiful when he was at sea; they were the color of the great Caribbean Sea itself. He dressed simply, usually in a white shirt and loose brown breeches, his feet bare. During travels with Gansey, Adam always worked the ship; too proud to use Gansey’s money to pay for a passage and too poor to pay for himself, he just worked as a part of the crew instead.

After all, he had sailed since he was eleven, and he could do any work: he could work the ropes, tug the sails, stand by the wheel, navigate the ship - he could even be a cook or a carpenter. He was very gifted at the latter, in fact. Adam was, in short, a jack-of-all-trades. But most of the time he simply scrubbed the deck.

He told himself he was fortunate to be of the same age as Richard Gansey III. Although he was a son of a simple gardener, he and Gansey were as thick as thieves since the childhood, as though born brothers. Gansey’s father was oblivious of Adam’s low birth at first, and then he could do nothing about it, because Gansey became very attached to Adam and threatened to make a fearful scene. But Adam always been aware of his status and his social place and it always pained his pride. No matter how smart he was, no matter how many languages he spoke, how talented he could be, his low birth would not allow him to become someone of significance. For all the New World’s talk of entrepreneurs, it was not built for men like him.

And this time, just as during any other voyage, Adam worked on ropes and sails and scrubbed the deck. However, at this very moment, he stood beside Gansey, watching as the pirate vessel drew ever closer. People aboard her were busy preparing the ropes, grappling hooks, nets and planks - readying for boarding. It didn’t seem real. He saw her name now - _Rex Corvus – Raven,_ he translated absently; and wandered whether this Captain Lynch gave a name to his ship or she already had it when he obtained her? And who was he, exactly? His name was well known in West Indies and in the Atlantics; a ferocious Irish pirate, scourge of the British Navy. Captain Lynch, who knows no mercy, taking what he wants without a second thought. People whispered that he was young, not much older than Adam himself, and yet a Captain of his own vessel with his own crew, a master of his own will. Adam couldn’t help but wonder what _he_ could accomplish given such an opportunity? What would he do, if by some chance he got himself a ship and a crew to sail it? Where would he go? And for what purpose?

It may seem unusual, to be so calm in the face of approaching danger, but Adam had practise from his years on land.

He was brought back from his thoughts by the rasp whisper of the first mate, Mr. Grey, persuading Gansey to stay as quiet as possible during the boarding and to blend in with the group of regular sailors at the lower deck. He motioned Adam to come closer, and placed a steady callused hand on his shoulder. His gray, piercing eyes studied Adam deliberately. Then he spoke.

“Mr. Parrish, I am relying on you entirely in this. Knowing the temper of our young Mr. Richard here, it’s your duty to keep him quiet. Those pirates mustn’t know who he is; his wellbeing depends on anonymity entirely. It is my command to keep him low! If any of the pirates will ask of the noble, valuable passengers aboard this ship, you must stay quiet and keep Richard’s mouth shut as well. Can you do this, Mr. Parrish?”

“Of course, sir!” Adam answered without hesitation. He would keep Gansey quiet, he would gain Mr. Grey’s respect and he would be a little bit higher on a social ladder then he’d been before - considering if they all get through this endeavor alive and whole. Besides, he would keep Gansey quiet even if Mr. Grey hadn’t told him to do so. Adam was not a fool and he understood all the risks of exposing Gansey’s social status to the pirates.

Mr. Grey nodded in an acknowledgement and went back to the upper deck to stand next to the Captain. Adam took Gansey by the shoulder and ushered him as far from the view as possible without drawing an unwanted attention. Gansey was all tense. He obviously disliked the idea of hiding his real identity but he also understood that it was a necessity, so he didn’t protest.

Meanwhile, the pirates started to emerge aboard _Pigmalion._ Some of them just jumped from the bulwark of their ship to the deck, some used ropes, some jumped and crawled on the nets and some of them were walking the planks which they threw across the gap between the ships. They all looked so different from the _Pigmalion’s_ crew. Most of them were pretty ragged and looked very ferocious and intimidating. They assembled at the upper deck, cocking pistols and muskets at the crew on the lower deck. Adam felt cold sweat at his back despite the summer heat. It seemed very real now.

To his surprise, he found the ship’s surgeon Henry Cheng and the only other familiar passenger, Noah Czerny - whom he knew from the summers at the Gansey’s plantation - standing next to him. Noah looked paler than usual and shuddered visibly. Cheng looked pale and horror-stricken as well. Well, Adam thought, he had a good reason to be afraid. Physicians and surgeons were men of a great value among the pirates, never mind just seamen in general. If this Captain Lynch had no physician aboard his vessel, he would definitely claim Cheng.

The silence aboard the ship was almost complete, except the creaking of the sails and masts and splashing of the waves. Suddenly, the Captain of _Pigmaloin_ roared. Adam flinched despite himself.

“And where is this Captain of your sorry lot, I’m asking you?”

No one answered him, and he became furious.

“Are you all deaf?! Where’s your bloody captain, I’m asking?!”

And then Adam heard a bird’s cry, very unexpected and unusual, for it wasn’t a gull, it sounded like… a crow? He craned his neck up to see the bird and indeed, he saw a huge black raven flying in the circles above their heads. Every man of _Pigmalion_ crew drew his eyes to the sky, watching the raven. Then Adam heard a thud, as if someone just landed on the deck and quickly turned his head in the direction of the sound. He saw nothing at first, the sun in his eyes. Then the man, recently landed on the deck, stood at his full height and it was impossible not to see him. He was towering above everyone on the deck, and his black hat with the plume of red feathers made him look even taller.

“Why, I presume it is me you are looking for, Captain. No need to shout so loud,” the man said, smiling. “Take care of your voice.”


	5. V

Blue stood at the bulwark and clung to the rigging with one hand, the other hand on the handle of her pistol; she watched how Ronan jumped on deck of _Pigmalion,_ timing it deliberately when everyone aboard her was watching Chainsaw, flying in circles above the ship. Ronan had always liked sleight of hand games, now-you-see-me-now-you-don’t; entrances so rehearsed she could almost imagine him mouthing the words and practicing the steps, younger and alone somewhere in the gloomy depths of Glenstal. He landed gracefully, which was somewhat wasted as no one but Blue saw, and was now straightening himself fully to rise above everyone else on the deck. Physically, of course. The moral high ground was not ever going to be the hill Ronan Lynch would die on. He rolled his shoulders back and then stooped slightly, familiar in the way only he could muster, then he swaggered towards the Captain and his mate. The crew parted before him, silent as the grave.

He stopped three paces before the Captain, took off his hat and made a mocking curtsy.

“Captain Ronan Lynch, at your service!”

And to complete the picture, Chainsaw made her last circle and perched on Ronan’s left shoulder with a screech. Holy Mary, but Ronan loved the dramatic entrance. Next time, Blue thought, trying not to snigger, he’ll ask her to throw smoke bombs on the deck, all in order to appear from the mist.

Ronan’s voice rolled across the ship like a tide. Blue often wondered how it was even possible to have such a voice. When she first met him at Nassau beach, she’d had no idea that this pale giant of a boy, all pride and cheekbones the nobility would cry over, would become her dearest friend. At the time, he’d looked so arrogant and so out of place, Blue instantly felt furious, fighting the urge to punch him in his stupid face, to wipe away the expression of superiority and disdain. But to do so, she probably would have needed to stand on a stool, or sit on someone’s shoulders, and that was not an option then or ever. Blue had her own sense of dignity.

She had been sent to the beach to greet him and escort to the trading house. Promising herself to save the punch for later, better circumstances, she straightened her spine, rolled her shoulders back, and strode towards the ever strange and currently stranger that was Ronan.

“Captain Lynch, I suppose?” She asked, in what she hoped was a casual voice. “Follow me.”

He only nodded curtly and went after her; Blue was forced to quicken her pace, because Ronan was moving very quickly on his long legs. She was almost running now to be ahead of him. They didn’t exchange a single word on the way to the trading house. They entered the two-story building and went upstairs, Blue still in the lead, a small but hard-won victory. She stopped in front of the set of doors and knocked, then, without waiting for a confirmation from the other side, she pushed both doors open and gestured Ronan inside.

Her mother Maura was sitting at the desk with Persephone at her right, Calla leaning on the desk at her left in a very audacious pose. They were in the middle of a conversation, but stopped abruptly when the doors flew open.

“That’s him.” Blue nodded towards Ronan with a deliberately bored expression. “Captain Lynch, he calls himself.”

“Very well. Nice to meet you, Captain.” Maura gave him a pleasant smile, giving nothing away. “We’ve heard about you. People talk, and sometimes they exaggerate, but we tend to think that this time the stories are quite truthful. Are they, Captain?”

“Depends on what kind of shit you’ve heard, I suppose.”

This is what Blue remembers the most of that first meeting; the first time when Blue heard his voice, the shock of it. He had a lilting Irish accent but his voice sounded rough and raw as grinding rocks. And although he spoke quietly, the sound of his voice filled the whole room, impossible to ignore even a single word. _This is it,_ she thought, _this is why they follow him, though he’s green as England._ For the kind of voice that could chill you to the bones and bring you to the battle fury both, all depending on a slight intonation and the will of its master.

This is why they follow him: Blue came back from her thoughts, jumped from the deck of _Rex Corvus_ to follow Ronan aboard _Pigmalion_ , caught up, then stopped beside him and begun to assess the situation. She studied the Captain and his first mate and concluded that they must be siblings, brothers maybe. But if the Captain looked more brutal and grim, the first mate had a clever look upon his face, and when Captain’s eyes flashed with unsheathed hostility and violence, the other man’s eyes were impossible to read. Same cradle, same blood: different kinds of men. The first mate’s expression was absolutely blank, not a hint of what he thought; and Blue understood with an immediate intimacy born of her Nassau life that he was the one whom they should fear, not the Captain - who was trying to intimidate Ronan so desperately with his furious appearance that he was becoming red in the face, his eyes ready to pop from their sockets.

That kind of demeanor, however, could hardly impress Ronan, who saw so many people of such ilk; and who could play such tricks himself, much, much better than the poor Captain. Ronan stopped scrutinizing two people in front of him and started to pace the deck slowly, silently, Chainsaw swaying slightly on his shoulder. Blue settled back. It had been a boring three weeks, and besides, she was always ready for a show.

“I see some of your crew has heard of me. That’s good. Ask them what they’ve heard.”

Ronan’s voice was low enough, but everyone on deck heard him perfectly. He took a pause as if waiting for someone to speak, and when no one answered, he continued.

“Well then, I suppose those brave gentlemen below - ” Here he  gestured with a pistol at the crowd on the lower deck, “ - are all either too modest, or too afraid to speak without you telling them aye?”

At the sound of that, Captain looked even more furious, he wanted to say something, but the first mate leaned closer to his ear and murmured something, very quiet and low, that restrained him.

Meanwhile, Ronan continued.

”You may have heard that I am a fearsome man, that I am a vicious man, that I am bloodthirsty and ruthless. And indeed, I am, when I’m in a bad mood. But you, my men, are lucky ones! For today I woke up in a surprisingly good spirits!”

At that, Ronan smiled brightly to the Captain over his shoulder, turning to the prized crew below, but then he turned back to Captain, his smile transforming into a vicious snarl, his eyes blazing with cold fire - a death skull’s smile.

“But you can ask any man of my crew and they would tell you that my temper is a fragile thing. So, I sincerely suggest to you the following: give your ship with all her cargo to me, without any resistance, or else you will experience the darker side of my altogether bright and sunny nature.”

He came so close to the Captain Blue was sure he could feel Ronan’s breath on his face; Ronan stooping to look him straight in the eye, lowering his voice to a barely-heard whisper. But when he started to talk again, Blue felt a chill that pierced her to the bones, even with the fact that she knew Ronan, knew him in all his moods and colors, and had seen him do this trick more times than she’d had decent meals these last months.

“And if you will be so foolish as to do otherwise, believe me, you will regret it. I will kill all your men and when I do so you will watch - and then I will do such things to you that you will beg me to stop and kill you instead. We both know there’s something worse than Death, Captain, and that’s time. Am I making myself clear?”

Ronan’s speech seemed to have desired effect on everyone aboard _Pigmalion_ except for the man to whom it was intended. The captain stood unmoved and very red in the face, but he showed no signs of fear whatsoever. Blue saw Ronan’s nostrils flaring, a good sign that he was beginning to lose his temper, and started to move closer to him, when all at once -

The Captain of _Pigmalion_ took three hasty steps back, retrieving his pistol from his holster, cocked it at Ronan’s chest and screamed “I will never surrender to scum like you!”

At the same moment, Ronan drew both his cutlasses and advanced on the Captain, pale eyes flashing cold, with a clear intent to cut off his arm. Chainsaw flew in the air from his shoulder and screeched. Blue aimed her pistol at the Captain, swerving to avoid the advancing Ronan and his blades in the sunlight, praying for the shot to be true. There was the sound of gunfire, the smell of gunpowder in the morning air. Blue’s hand had not moved. She looked wildly to Ronan, but he still breathed.

Then the Captain faltered suddenly. His pistol fell on the deck from his hand with a thud and a spasm, and a bloodstain appeared on his chest, spreading rapidly. The first mate came from behind his back and ripped the dirk from where it was strapped to the Captain’s blue jacket with a kind of vicious satisfaction, then he crouched next to the body and wiped the dirk on the captain's sleeve. Yet his face was as blank as if he had just sliced a turnip, not killed a man.

Blue was always right about which men to fear.

Blue - pistol still aimed, veins shivery with adrenaline - looked to Ronan, who stood still with both cutlasses drawn. His stance loosened. He must have felt her eyes on him, because he gestured to her to wait, all his attention on the first mate of _Pigmalion_. He stopped a few paces before Ronan, threw the dirk at Ronan’s feet and said in a clear voice “The ship is yours.”

 And after a brief pause, he added: “I wanna join your crew. Where can I sign the articles?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Signing the articles.
> 
> Every time, when a sailor decided to became a pirate, he and his fellows wrote down the list of rules, a pirate code, pirate articles or articles of agreement, which provided rules for discipline, division of stolen goods, and compensation for injured pirates. Each crew member was asked to sign or make his mark on the articles, then swear an oath of allegiance or honor. The oath was sometimes taken on a Bible.
> 
> After a piratical cruise began, new recruits from captured ships would sometimes sign the articles, in some cases voluntarily, in other cases under threat of torture or death. Valuable sea artisans, such as carpenters and navigators, were especially likely to be forced to sign articles under duress, and would rarely be released regardless of their decision to sign or not. In some cases, even willing recruits would ask the pirates to pretend to force them to sign, so that they could plead they were forced should they ever be captured by the law. Generally, men who had not signed the articles had a much better chance of acquittal at trial if captured by the law.
> 
> and an illustration of Ronan's crazy face http://xla-hainex.tumblr.com/post/151614470351/blue-saw-ronans-nostrils-flaring-a-good-sign


	6. VI

As Ronan stood over the Captain’s body, watching the pool of blood spreading around it, he replayed everything in his head, trying to understand where exactly his mistake was.

Obviously, he had underestimated the man. He had decided that the Captain was probably too hot-tempered for his own good, but not an idiot. He was loath to admit it, but it seemed that Ronan failed to notice particular suicidal tendencies in the Captain’s behavior, which had almost cost him his own life.  After all, this Captain had encountered pirates before, no doubt, and he’d managed to get through these encounters intact, given that he still was a Captain of his own ship. Ronan had been a fool to come and stay that close.

He had been so sure though - that he had all the speed, skill and momentum to falter the Captain’s aim and prevent the lethal shot - and yet, he could have had a grievous wound in that fight, if not for the first mate’s actions, which were one more thing to consider.

When Ronan came aboard the ship and studied Captain and his mate, he’d  decided that Captain represented the brutal force, with all the important decisions made by the first mate. This conclusion, at least, appeared to be accurate. Now, Ronan looked at the dirk at his feet and then turned his gaze to the first mate, watching Ronan in turn, the first mate who had blood on his hands and an expressed desire to join Ronan’s crew and sign articles.

“And what will be your name, mate?” Ronan kept his own voice flat and disinterested. It was dangerous to seem to eager in the bargaining: Blue had taught him that, back in Nassau. Declan had taught him that, back in Dublin. Never show your hand. Keep your heart in your chest and not on your sleeve. He who cares most, loses first.

“You can call me Mr. Grey, capt’n.”

“So, Mr. Grey, is that it? A’ight, my man, if it is your desire to leave your first name behind, who am I to question it, aye?

Ronan looked him right in the eyes with that ice-cold stare of his, which was known to all people who had the bad luck to encounter Captain Lynch at sea. Many men faltered under the scrutiny of it. They turned their gaze or started to mumble incoherently. Some even started to cry and beg for mercy. Ronan hated the last kind of people above all. He despised cowards with all his soul. Cowards did _not_ deserve a place aboard any ship; they had no _right_ to call themselves sailors. The open sea was no place for faint-hearted men.

Mr. Grey, however, held his gaze with a blank expression. When he answered, his voice was calm and steady as a pulse.

“I would prefer to leave my name behind, if it pleases you. I assume that you may have some concern in my person and in my motives.”

Ronan huffed under his breath. At this point, he expected something to crack: a nervous smile, maybe a laugh, hysteria leaking out from the corners. Nothing. It was as though the man had lead in his veins.

“Let me reassure you, capt’n, that whatever motives I had to do such a thing as to kill my Captain are deeply personal.”

“Care to elaborate?” That was Blue who stood next to Ronan, watching Mr. Grey very carefully and showing all her teeth.

She didn’t believe him a bit, Ronan realized with a sudden certainty, heavy as a last drop from a rope.

“Aye,” he said, “We all would like to hear the very personal story behind the killing of your brother in a cold blood.”

Ronan gambled and hoped that he hit the right spot. Both crews - his own and the prized crew on the lower deck - all turned their attention to him. Some of them looked surprised, some looked doubting. Mr. Grey’s right eye twitched slightly. No one noticed it except for Ronan and Blue, who stood very close to him. _Good, hit a nerve then. I’m right. Thank God_ , Ronan gave a silent hasty prayer and tapped the hilts of his cutlasses impatiently.

“You are right, capt’n, this man indeed was my older brother. We shared a rather troubled childhood. You see…” He took a pause as if to collect his thoughts. It seemed too practised. Ronan let him carry on anyhow.

“This man killed his own father, who was naturally my father as well. He was a tyrant, who cared for no one but himself. He was brutal and severe; he simply did not deserve to live. I was waiting for an opportunity such this for a long time and now I’m glad I finally had it. It was a pure _pleasure_ to kill him.”

Ronan wasn’t sure whether he believed this man or not. Most people were so easy to read. They shoved all their emotions on their faces. Some of them were able to muster the facial expressions, but their eyes betrayed them. It was always the eyes. And those, the best - who were worldly-wise, well-versed in the game - could control their eyes too, but they were betrayed by the smallest details. Eventually, an eyelid would twitch, a lip would quirk, a hand would tremble.

But this man, Mr. Grey, he was absolutely blank as a clean slate. One eyelid, that had been all so far. It wasn’t enough to go on. He wore no traces of his thoughts upon the face, which was...unnerving, to say the least.

“As long as you’re not going to stab me in the back with that dirk of yours, I have no concerns whatsoever, mate,” Ronan lied. “You are joining _my_ crew willingly, I will remember that. If you will prove yourself worthy, your reward will be likewise. It’s not like the navy. You will get _exactly_ what you are worthy of. Miss Sargent!” and here Ronan turned towards Blue, “Will you be so kind and bring me the articles and the Bible?”

Blue looked at him sourly and gave a little nod, not very enthusiastic.

“Aye aye, capt’n.”

“Mr. Doughty, fetch me the journal from captain’s cabin. Mr. Grey, what kind of cargo are you transporting? Your route?”

Simultaneously, Ronan paced the upper deck, examining the prized crew below. He saw a number of potential candidates for his own. He would have to split them; some of the old crew to remain at _Rex Corvus,_ some of them to join him here, aboard this frigate. He needs to proceed wisely, pick people carefully. _Blue would like to have a ship of her own,_ he thought suddenly. No, that cannot be an option, though...he should offer it to her. _She will decline it, anyway. Or will she?_

Ronan was afraid to admit it, even to himself. He needed Blue beside him, no matter what he told her and everyone else every day. He remembered all too well what had happened before he met her. The day he set his foot on Nassau for the first time, Maura Sargent had said that she was sure of one thing: all the rumors about Ronan wasn’t rumors at all, that it all was the truth. And it was the truth, indeed.

During his first boarding, he lost himself completely. He fought so fiercely, that at the end of the fight he stood alone in the circle of bodies, covered in blood from head to toe, the taste of copper in his teeth. No one knew him before that. But afterwards - after he took all valuable cargo from the ship, he set the steering, marked a course, made sure that the vessel would reach the shore, and that it would have evidence of his presence. He left a note on the body of ship’s captain. It said _the next fool to show the smallest resistance to Captain Lynch will end up as every single man of this unfortunate vessel did, so help them God._ A Catholic to the bone, Ronan saved calling on the Lord for when he felt it needed.

Unfortunately for the people who sailed these waters, the message spread rather more slowly than Ronan anticipated, and on his way to Nassau Ronan boarded two more ships. Both of them knew nothing of him and decided that he was a fresh blood, inexperienced and not worthy of their fear. Oh, how _wrong_ they were.

After this, all the gossip of the people of the West Indies and New England was of crazy Captain Lynch, who bathed in blood of good Christian people and ate the hearts of little boys. Third time’s the charm. It suited Ronan’s purposes well enough.

But his crew started to talk. They whispered, very aware of his fragile temper and of the fact that most of the time he could not tolerate even the slightest insubordination. Ronan himself realized that he needed someone to restrain him; someone who could keep his anger on a leash; someone to understand him, to listen to him and share his secrets.  And then he met Blue.

She was unlike anyone he ever met. Casting aside the fact that she was a woman, she was something indeed. The bond between them appeared out of thin air, twice as strong as the toughest rigging. It was as if Blue understood immediately what kind of person Ronan was and what he needed the most.

Of course she was a totally intolerable, awful person who always stepped on your heels, poking her fingers in all your worst wounds - not to mention her endless salty remarks - but it helped Ronan to float above the sea of madness.

He was brought back from his thoughts by Doughty, who returned with the ship’s log. Ronan took the journal and scanned the pages, found the latest entry and beckoned Mr. Grey to come closer.

“So, this is how it will precede: I will ask you a question and if I so much as to see you quiver or hesitate for a moment, you will walk the plank and say “hello” to Davy Jones, savvy?” Ronan’s voice was quiet and friendly when he made the threat, but his eyes were burning with a cold fire. Mr. Grey, however, held that gaze and didn’t seem troubled by the open intimidation at all. He answered in the same clear and untroubled voice as before, his expression blank.

 “Aye, Capt’n.”

But before Ronan could even begin, Blue came back from _Rex Corvus_ with the articles and the Bible. She stopped beside him and looked at the ship’s log, then at Mr. Grey, then at Ronan - and finally, at the prized crew below. Whilst Ronan started to ask Mr. Grey questions about the route and cargo, Blue’s eyes scanned the crowd on the lower deck, then stopped; hooked, it seemed, on a small group of four people, who stood a bit aloof from the main mass. Blue peered at them for some time, then her gaze moved along and returned to Mr. Grey. She asked a question, in a demanding tone that brooked no argument, interrupting Ronan in the very middle of his sentence.

“Do you have any passengers aboard?”

“Beg your pardon, miss?” Mr. Grey seemed startled a bit.

“Are you deaf or dumb? I’ve asked: do you have any passengers aboard, you skeev?”

Ronan was about to interfere and say everything he thought about Blue and her blasted behavior, when he noticed the sudden change in Mr. Grey’s appearance. It was there only for a second longer, but it showed itself nonetheless. Ronan scanned the crowd below them, more thoroughly this time, following the flicker of Blue’s eyes - and indeed, he noticed the same group of people whom Blue was watching a couple of moments before. Three of them looked like nobles. They all were clean, for a start. Their hair was brushed and carefully combed; they wore cravats and good-tailored suits. Blimey, Ronan was able to recognize a nobleman when he saw one and those gentlemen below certainly had no idea whatsoever how to tie a proper knot outside of their own cravats.

“Who are they?” he demanded of Mr. Grey, pointing at the direction of the group with a drawn cutlass, his nostrils flaring. He took small breaths, trying to regain his composure. If this man was going to continue to play them for fools, Ronan wouldn’t be able to control himself any longer. He could put an end to this. He _would._

“Who?” Mr. Grey looked surprised and started to scan the crowd below.

“Don’t play a fool with me, you scurvy dog! Who are they, I repeat, and this will be the last time when I address you in such a civil manner!” Ronan bellowed and grabbed the man by the collar of his shirt, then showed him forward with great force. Mr. Grey managed to stay on his feet somehow, answering: “These are the ship’s physician and his apprentice, and a young gentleman we took aboard in Charlestown.”

Ronan, still holding Mr. Grey by the collar, dragged him all the way down the steps and toward the scared physician and the others, then shoved him once more and took the pistol from its holster. Blue was close behind him.

“Which one of you gentlemen is the physician?” he asked in a cold voice.

After a long moment the Asian gentleman took a small step forward and answered in a quivering voice: “I am the physician. Henry Cheng is the name.”

“Good. Now which one of you is the unfortunate soul who stepped aboard this ship in Charlestown?”

At that, he smiled a little. Neither of the remaining two men moved. Ronan looked from one to the other. The first one was pale-skinned, with blond ringleted hair; he was lean and pretty tall, not even close to Ronan’s height, but  he was taller than the physician and his other companion. He also had a bruise on his left cheekbone.

The other one wore funny little rounded spectacles perched on a very thoroughbred face; a square jaw, straight nose, smart hazel-brown eyes and a small cluster of freckles on the nose and cheeks. He radiated confidence and superiority. It crackled under Ronan’s own skin in recognition. Oh, Ronan knew this kind of people all too well - Declan was one of them. And this man seemed to be unafraid of the pirate in front of him.

While Ronan studied those two people, something happened. Blue snatched her pistol, aimed it in the chest of a young man who stood beside the nobles and said: “Stay where you are or I swear I will add an extra-hole in your body, you son of a Biscuit Eater!”

Ronan looked in the direction of her aim and saw a tall and lean lad, tanned and covered in freckles from head to toe. His unevenly-cropped dusty-brown hair fluttered slightly in the wind. He had high prominent cheekbones and startlingly blue eyes, which looked even bluer on his tanned face. He must have felt Ronan’s eyes upon him, because at that moment he stopped staring at Blue’s pistol and turned to look at Ronan instead. What kind of man looks away from his own death?

Without breaking eye contact, Ronan asked Blue: “The hell’s you doing, Sargent?”

“He moved. Tried to push one of them forward.”

“Oh, is that so?” Ronan was still eyeing the freckled boy. It seemed impossible to stop staring in those blue eyes. “Say, mate, what were you doing, exactly?”

The boy gave him no answer, and partially angered, partially disappointed, Ronan turned his attention back to the people in front of him.

“If none of you will move forward, she will shoot him,” Ronan said in a casual voice and gestured at Blue. It had an effect, because both of the boys now moved forward at once.

“Oh, this is ridiculous! I will shoot him, mind you!” Blue exhaled on an exasperated breath, moving closer to the freckled boy. Now, the gunpoint of her pistol was touching his breast, just where his heart must beat.

Mr. Grey moved a bit forward and spoke.

“This is all a huge misunderstanding, gentlemen…”

But Ronan didn’t let him finish. He slapped the man across the face with the back of his free hand and gave him a warning glance. At this, the boy in spectacles lost his temper and stepped forward, puffing his chest and trying his best to look Ronan in the eyes. Boys like him, boys like Declan: they always think of themselves as martyrs. They always want to play at being the hero.

“Stop this madness immediately, sir! There is no need for more violence! This fellow on my left is the unlucky soul who stepped aboard the ship in Charlestown!”

With this, he gestured towards the pale blond boy.

“So, you would be a physician’s apprentice? Isn’t your mentor too young to have an apprentice, I wonder? You seem of the same age to me, mate.”

Ronan gave the doctor a mocking smile.

“We are of the same age indeed, for I am not his apprentice!” the spectacled boy pronounced proudly. At this, Mr. Gray became very pale in the face, and the freckled boy looked as if someone had just punched him in the guts.

“And who will you be then, I wonder?” asked Ronan, the mockery in his voice all too obvious already.

The boy straightened himself, adjusted his spectacles, cleared his throat and announced in a clear, slightly trembling voice: “I am Richard Campbell Gansey III and you are standing aboard _my_ ship!”

 

 


	7. VII

Adam gritted his teeth and swore under his breath at the clear sound of Gansey's voice, who had just now unmistakably proclaimed his full name. This was exactly the thing Mr. Grey wanted to avoid and now, here they are. The pirate captain knew who was standing in front of him and exactly how much he was worth. Why Gansey did that was beyond Adam's understanding. Surely it was natural behavior for an intelligent being to preserve himself in a perilous situation, but apparently such petty rules were beneath Richard Campbell Gansey III.

And yet, right now he faced the bloody pirate with such a dignity and surety that Adam - despite his anger and bitterness - felt some kind of awe. It was impossible to be mad at Gansey in moments like this. Adam supposed his friend was used to being respected and accounted for, so how on earth could he tolerate such a treatment as this?

The whole time this Captain Lynch was onboard _Pigmalion_ Adam had been watching him very carefully and closely. When their eyes met, he was enchanted for a couple of seconds; by the cold blue fire that roared in pirate's eyes, by the flicker of an unbending will and freedom that was unknown to Adam but so desirable. As if he had ever had an opportunity and chance for freedom, thought Adam bitterly, chewing the inner side of his cheek, though it wasn't the time for such thoughts. He’d failed Mr. Grey; he hadn't been able to protect Gansey's anonymity. Even worse – and perhaps more pressing - he still had a drawn pistol against his heart with a very angry girl ready to shoot him at any moment. He felt cold sweat collect in the dip of his spine, chilling despite the heat.

And as if unrealising of the gravity of the situation, Gansey continued his speech.

"I repeat, _sir_ , there is absolutely no need for more violence! Look around you: the captain is dead, his second in command pledged you an allegiance; you have the entire crew under control and the ship is at your disposal!" Gansey spoke with heat and conviction, and Adam marveled at Gansey's resourcefulness, his ability to speak under unwavering pressure. His voice was clear and steady all in all, only a bit too high. Despite the circumstances, his friend sounded as if he was not aboard the ship infested with pirates and addressed not their bloodthirsty captain, but in Oxford in front of his teachers. "So, I am pleading, leave the man be, sir. He only tried to protect me; he is not to blame, sir! Let's resolve this as proper civilized gentlemen!"

"Do I look like a proper civilized gentleman to you, eh?" The pirate captain retorted, looking amused. He checked his hat, then started to study his fingernails, took the dirk from the belt and started to toy with it.

_Playing with us_ , Adam thought, with an uncomfortable, familiar twist of the stomach. _He’s playing with us_.

"Well, I'm sure, if you will take a bath and put on fresh clothes, you will look like one!"

Apparently, Gansey had chosen to continue with the habits of a lifetime: that is to say, no idea of self-preservation and no common sense whatsoever. Adam prepared himself for an outburst from the captain, but none followed. Instead, the pirate's

eyes glimmered and he barked out a laugh. He swaggered closer to Gansey and placed a hand on his shoulder. Gansey managed not to flinch.

"I like this little lordling, Sargent! He has guts, what do you think?"

"To hell with him, that's what I think,” the girl, Sargent, retorted, her voice high and bit raspy and entirely dismissive. “All those petty nobles think they're the smartest. The fuck they are! He's worth a ransom, for sure, but I'm not about to listen to his speeches! Gag him and throw him belowdecks!"

"If you don't mind me saying so, captain, I would suggest not to pay attention to the lady's words, though I can hardy call her a lady. Begging your pardon, of course, given she's... oh how do I put it?..." Gansey furrowed his brow and moved his right thumb absently against his lower lip. _Don’t you dare_ , Adam thought furiously. _Don’t you_ -

"Your mistress," Gansey finished at last.

Everyone who was within earshot fell silent. Lynch's face became blank and expressionless in a blink of an eye. All traces of amusement withdrew. Adam thought, a little meanly, that Lynch went a shade of pale even more so than he naturally was. Some of the pirates whistled.

"I wouldn't want to be in your shoes right now, mate," is all Lynch said, after a brief silence. Was there a note of compassion in his tone? "And here I thought that _I_ was the most desperate and reckless person aboard this ship!"

He gave Gansey a small pitying smile and took a few steps back, clearing the space in front of him.

Adam was so concentrated on Captain Lynch and Gansey that he hasn’t noticed a sudden change in Blue's countenance. She looked as if she was about to explode. All her muscles tensing, her free hand clenched into a small fist; then she whirled on her heels and stormed towards Gansey, putting her pistol back in its holster while she moved. Adam felt selfishly grateful. She stopped very close to Gansey, intruding in his personal space mercilessly and tilted her head to look him in the eyes. All in all she looked very much like a tiny and very angry sparrow, ready to jump up, pick a fight, and peck out something’s eyes whilst she was at it.

Everyone aboard watched this scene in silence - the pirates because they knew Blue well enough and because they knew better than to say what Gansey just had - the crew of _Pigmalion_ because they were intrigued and partially afraid of what may come next. Adam looked at Captain Lynch and was surprised by the look on his face. There was no malevolence or anger but compassion, amusement, definitely a tint of concern; a small sympathetic smile played at the corners of his thin lips.

Meanwhile, seconds passed. Blue stared at Gansey and said nothing. He became quite uncomfortable under the scrutiny of her eyes and shifted from foot to foot, gulped a couple of times and, finally, unable to endure her stare any longer, broke the silence and spoke in a small voice.

"Ahem, Miss, my sincere apologies if I said something wrong, but I don't think it was appropriate for you to..."

And there it was, then it happened: the tipping point. The colossal tsunami of Blue Sargent's anger crushed upon him and swept him completely. She snapped across him in a high-pitched voice.

"Oh, of fucking course! _If_ you said something wrong, you ignorant idiot! To hell with you and your blasted society!"

Gansey stood there taken aback, seemingly at a complete loss of words for the first time in his life. If not for given circumstances, Adam might have taken some kind of enjoyment in it. Blue looked at Gansey disdainfully and continued in a mocking manner.

"A proper lady should _not_ behave that way! A proper lady should _not_ wear men's clothes! A proper lady should _not_ point a pistol to a man's chest! A proper lady should _not_ swear and finally, a proper lady should _not_ be a pirate!" She stopped to draw a breath and turned her head to observe the spectators. "A mistress! Did you hear that, lads? _A mistress_ , me! Blimey!"

Then she pointed her index finger at Gansey's nose and sneered.

"All you noble fools think that women have no wits about them and the only thing we're good for is to breed your fucking children! Guess what? You're bloody wrong, all of you! What, if I have a cunt instead of a dick, I'm not as smart as you are?"

Gansey stood there watching her with big eyes, reddened almost to the color of Lynch's burgundy shirt. He opened his mouth then closed it, opened it again and without any word averted his eyes from Sargent; who stood in front of him huffing, hands on her hips. In Gansey's meagre defense Adam could say that Gansey had very vague idea of women in general and of this type of women in particular. He had an older sister Helen, who was one such proper lady. Helen of the manners; who never spoke out of turn, played piano, danced and curtsied splendidly, read poetry and romances. She was always clean and smelled good; her chestnut hair was always brushed and fell in curls upon her slender shoulders. Her gowns were always well-tailored and perfectly-fitting; she averted her eyes and hid her smile behind her fan. And so it went: so were most of the women Gansey had encountered in his short and rich life; in short, they’d had nothing in common with this devil of a girl.

Adam looked at her more closely, trying to understand what words could turn this situation to their advantage. In the current moment it seemed that every word would enrage her even more. So what should Adam do then? Obviously, Gansey had nothing more to say at the present time; Mr. Grey stood next to Lynch and massaged his cheek; Cheng and Noah were at a complete loss and stood next to Gansey, both shaking badly. Noah, especially, seemed ready to swoon.

Alright, _here goes nothing_. Adam stepped forward and opened his mouth. He was surprised by the sound of his own voice, as if it didn’t belong to him. All the words sounded faded to his good ear, as if he was underwater. His chest felt tight, as though struggling to keep the air in his lungs. _I should’ve drowned you at birth_ , his father said in his mind. Adam forced the memory away.

“Miss, beg your pard’n, but Mr. Richard here isn’t himself, believe me. ‘Twas these dire circumstances that drove him to such words, I assure you, he didn’t mean it - by God, he didn’t.”

Blue turned her head slowly to face him but said nothing. Encouraged by this little gesture a bit, Adam continued.

“Mr. Richard is very educated and smart fellow, maybe over-educated and too smart for his own good, like, but he would never offend you on purpose. It’s just… sometimes he has no idea when it is better to stop talking and keep his mouth shut, that’s all.”

“Over-educated, bah!” Blue shot last sharp glance at Gansey and turned her back to him, then marched towards Lynch, prodded Mr. Grey with her elbow to the back and disappeared in captain’s cabin with him in tow. Lynch overlooked both decks, motioned one of his crew closer, gave him some brief instructions and also went to the captain’s cabin. Gansey let out a breath.

As soon as the pirate leaders disappeared, Adam spoke to Gansey in a harsh whisper, without turning his head. He kept his eyes locked on where the masters of their fate had last been.

“Please, Gansey, don’t say anything! ‘Twas essential to secure your anonymity, but we failed to do so and now we’re in a dangerous position! Mr. Grey couldn’t risk you being injured or worse if the battle had begun – if it had come to that - so he decided to surrender instead. He lied about you to those blasted pirates and you ruined all this just because you couldn’t stand being small and insignificant.”

Adam understood that he was crossing well over the line and beyond already by saying such things, but right now he couldn’t have cared less. He was angry at Gansey and himself and Mr. Grey and bloody luck that brought their ship in the view of those pirates.

Gansey stood surprisingly silent and demoralized. He didn’t even argued once, merely said: “Adam, take my sincere apologies. I… I heard what Mr. Grey told you and I knew that I should just play my part, but… ah, I screwed it, totally!”

“This whole plan was doomed from the very beginning. If this was someone else, not Lynch and his Gorgon, we mayhaps would’ve stood a chance… but this missy, I’ll tell, I’ve heard a lot of things about her… she’s the worst, honestly.” Henry Cheng spoke at last, brushing the folds of his jacket and looked at Adam, looked to Adam. “I’ve sailed these waters for the whole last year, I’ve been in many ports and everywhere people talk of the same tales for the last five or six months,” Cheng continued, looking around nervously. “They say that Captain Lynch is a monster – well, that he was a monster, before he took her aboard. They say he boarded three or four ships and killed every man of their crews, then he chopped off the middle fingers of their captains and wore them as a necklace!”

“No way!” Noah exclaimed, his eyes wide.

“This is ridiculous. I haven’t seen any fingers on his neck,” Adam frowned and looked around. Some people had turned their heads at the sound of Noah’s cry.

“I’m telling you, he _was_ a monster, before he met the girl. Since she became a part of his crew, Lynch became more careful and smart. My personal opinion: she is the brains, he is the muscles,” Cheng concluded. Given available evidence, Adam felt inclined to agree.

“Better not to piss her off then,” suggested Noah; Gansey and Cheng nodded vigorously.

“She’s already pretty pissed,” Adam felt he had to point out. “We have to find a way to calm her and we have to avoid any further conflicts. Even if she tries to provoke any of us – and she will, I’ve no doubt - we have to stay polite.” Adam looked at all of them and then addressed Gansey directly. “Especially you, Richard. You better be entirely quiet and for God’s sake, don’t say the word “appropriate” to her ever again or else good luck keeping yourself in one whole piece.”

Gansey wanted to protest and defend himself, Adam could see: he wanted to say that he could handle almost every situation and especially this one, but thankfully he thought better of it and just nodded curtly.

Whilst they were hashing out this plan, the ship came to life. Pirates moved the cargo to their ship; some of their own prized crew were bound and escorted to the ship’s hold; the others, who’d decided to join the pirate ranks, helped with the transportation of the booty. The lower deck emptied and finally only the four of them were left without a task. Adam looked around and saw a young man moving towards them, the one who received orders from Captain Lynch previously.

“Oi, ye three - aye aye, I’m talkin’ to ye gentlemen, move your noble arses to me!” the pirate shouted and gestured wildly to them to move faster towards him when they took their first steps, clearly hesitant. “Capt’n’ll have a couple o’ words with ye, he’s not the patient one, ye know! Ye better be quick about it!”

Gansey, Noah and Cheng hurried towards the pirate and Adam watched how they all disappeared in the captain’s cabin. He was left alone now and for a couple of seconds he had no idea what to do, but suddenly a callused hand patted him on the back.

“What, do ye need a special invitation, lad? Take that crate and move. Chop-chop!”

Adam turned around and saw a windblown red face framed in a grizzled beard, a pair of laughing blue eyes and an enormous golden hoop in a left earlobe. The buccaneer scolded him and gestured to the pile of crates.

“Take that one and place it over there. Do ye know how to work the ropes?”

“Aye. I also know a thing or two ‘bout carpentry.”

_It’s now or never._

“Now, do ye indeed?” pirate raised his bushy eyebrows. “Finish with the crates and we’ll see what’s that thing or two, har!”

_Now or never_. He could be no one on the merchant ship, he could be no one on a men-of-war - but he easily could be someone here, amongst the pirates. _If you will prove yourself worthy, your reward will be likewise. It’s not the royal navy. You will get exactly what you are worthy of_. Ronan Lynch’s words were ringing in his ears. _You will get exactly what you are worthy of_.

God knows, Adam thought: he would get exactly what he was worthy of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very sorry for the time it takes me to write a chapter, but I'm not dead an this story will continue.


	8. VIII

The double doors to the Captain's cabin closed with an audible creak. Gansey's heart skipped a bit at that sound. Though he wasn't alone here - he was with Noah and Henry Cheng, and Mr. Grey was here with them as well - Gansey felt particularly sick and troubled. He couldn't stop thinking about Adam's recent words; they ached inside him, as if every word was carved into his brain.

He did everything wrong: he couldn't keep his mouth shut, he’d named himself loud and clear and now he was a hostage aboard his own (as in, his father’s) ship. He was worth a good ransom - that's what those pirates thought, and they were right, probably. Also, he had endangered everyone else who had tried to cover him, Mr. Grey in particular.

"I'm waitin' for the explanation." Lynch's voice brought Gansey back from his thoughts. Though the captain was addressing not him but Mr. Grey, Gansey shifted uneasily and stole a glance at Mr. Grey. Grey’s face was as blank and expressionless as ever.

"What can I say that you haven't figured out yourself already, Captain?" Mr. Grey looked the pirate in the eyes and continued, "The part about my brother - complete truth. The part about me willing to join your crew - truth as well. I only wanted to ensure the safety of Mister Richard Gansey, because it was an original task of this voyage, and I personally promised his father that Mr. Richard will arrive in London at the end of the summer."

He paused, clearly waiting for some sign from Lynch or his devilish woman, got none, but continued anyway.

"When we understood who you were, I proposed to capitulate immediately but my brother had another opinion. He wanted to give you a fight and he was sure of the outcome. He thought that he would win, of course. The fact that he knew very little about you and your deeds didn't bother him at all. What a fool!"

At the last part Captain Lynch snorted, and after a brief thought took the Bible from the table.

"Go on then, mate. You wanted to become a part of my crew, did you not?"

"Do you really think this is wise, Ronan?" It was the girl again, her voice full of doubt. She had calmed down, Gansey thought, and looked almost peaceful.

"I mean, he just stabbed his brother in the back. He looks to have very little feeling in him and, if I’m honest, it unnerves me. A lot."

"I don't like it either. I haven’t discounted the fact that he just killed his brother in a cold blood. Still, it seems the only right thing to do at the moment - I have a feeling, you know?”

“You and your feelings,” Miss Sargent muttered.

“Well, Chainsaw hasn't attacked him yet. That means helluva lot to me." Ronan stroked the beak of his pet raven, which was perched on his left shoulder again. Miss Sargent looked doubtful still, but said nothing and only shook her head. Meanwhile, Ronan handed the Bible to Mr. Grey and took a heap of parchments from the arms of the man who had escorted Gansey and his friends to the cabin.

"I'm gonna read the articles and you’re gonna swear on the Holy Bible." He looked at Cheng then and in a blink of an eye was standing in front of him with a pleasant smile.

"You’re  gonna swear and sign as well, my good doctor," he murmured and straightened Henry's cravat with his long pale fingers. _Certainly knows how to tie a cravat_ , Gansey thought, _must've had a lot of practice somehow_. Henry flinched and started to shake a little.

"And furthermore, you’re gonna do that willingly and now. And if you refuse, I'll force you to join my crew anyway, but I’ll torture you a bit first. Or a lot," Lynch shrugged and made a face, "That really depends."

Something in Lynch's voice made Gansey sure that he wasn't bluffing at all. He really meant it, Gansey realised. _He's really going to torture Henry if Henry'll find the courage to refuse_. And by the look on Henry, it was clear that he’d had exactly the same thought. He hastily put his left hand on Bible, his right to his heart and swallowed loudly.

"What a smart fellow we have here, Sargent! This one's gonna do well, I have a feeling!" Ronan exclaimed and looked at the girl, his eyes shining.

"Yeah yeah, very smart. He's blasted coward. I bet he's gonna wet himself during the first boarding." Miss Sargent sounded bored and completely uninterested. _Can this girl ever be pleased with something?_ Gansey wondered.

"Ah, don’t underestimate him! I think he's gonna do just fine! Aren't you, Mr. ...?" Ronan looked at Henry with a questioning expression, "Mr. What's-your-name-again?"

"Cheng," Henry mumbled, "Henry Cheng."

"Mr. Cheng! Splendid!" Ronan cleared his throat and continued, "Let's be done with it already, gentlemen!"

Gansey didn’t listened to what followed next, when Captain Lynch read aloud the articles. He looked at the girl from the corner of his eye and marveled, wondering what in the name of God could've made her so ruthless and tough. She was harder than stone and had no manners, no shining beauty and no typical woman's charm, but in the same time she had something... something that Gansey couldn't name yet. The way she spoke, looked, moved and acted, it all was so different from what Gansey was used to. And maybe it was because of this he was so enchanted now? No, not enchanted. Distracted.

Everything in his life was so monotonous before today. He knew what exactly would happen on the next day and on the day after tomorrow and so and so on, _before today_. He lived by schedule, all his steps carefully planned by his father, _before today_. But right now, at this very moment, his father had nothing to do with his faith. Gansey couldn't say that he was the master of the situation now, but his father wasn't in control either. Small mercies.

Meanwhile, the true master of the situation finished reading the articles and came to the captain's desk to fetch a quill and a bottle of ink. Then he motioned Mr. Grey and Cheng to come closer and watched them as they signed the papers in turn.

"All right, my men! You are members of my crew now! Which means you are under my command, and under Miss Sargent's, of course." Ronan gave Miss Sargent a knowing look and clapped his hands loudly.

"Off you go. Both of you will be staying aboard this beauty with me. Mr. Cheng, go to your cabin and be ready to see to a couple of men, I'll send them to you a bit later. Mr. Grey, go and talk to your crew. I’d like to know how many of them are willing to sign the articles," he stopped talking and started to study the interior of the cabin.

"Why are you still here? Your Captain gave you orders, go and obey!" Miss Sargent barked and Henry with Mr. Grey hurried off the cabin.

"You can go too, Rob," she addressed the young man in a much different, much friendlier voice.

"Aye aye miss," he answered and withdrew.

"Now with you two," Lynch said without looking at them, "You, the poor soul who stepped aboard this ship in Charlestown. What's your name? Who's your father? You think he'll pay for your life?"

Gansey looked at Noah, who stood to his right. Noah looked terrible. He still had a nasty bruise on the left cheekbone, the evidence of his father's wrath. The circumstances in which Noah had got this bruise were most unpleasant. Gansey remembered the scene that Mr. Czerny performed in the middle of the town, in front of the huge crowd. He’d slammed Noah with the back of his hand and roared: that he wouldn’t have an abomination for his son; that Noah was a disgrace for the whole family and that he, Mr. Czerny, had no desire to know him, that Noah was his son and heir no longer and that he could go whatever his wretched mind will take him. Fortunately, Gansey saw and heard all of this himself and hesitated not a second when he approached his friend and offered him free passage to Boston. Now he felt a pang of guilt, looking at Noah's pale face and shaking hands.

"My name's Noah Czerny, I was born in Charlestown," Noah stammered and, looking at his boots, "I am worthless, I think. My father disinherited me and sent me off. I don't even have any money on me."

"Why the fuck did he do that?" Miss Sargent asked with curiosity in her voice. Not a shade of hostility, Gansey noticed immediately - she really seemed to be interested.

"He said that I am a disgrace for the family and an abomination," Noah mumbled.

"An abomination!" Lynch exclaimed, "A good ancillary to the woman on board, then!"

"Piss off, captain!" Miss Sargent retorted without any real venom.

Noah, still pale, chuckled softly.

"Do I have to tell you the rest?" he asked.

"No, that'll be all," Miss Sargent said and motioned to the doors with her head, "You can go back to your cabin or do whatever you want but don't hinder anyone."

Noah nodded and hurried to the exit.

"That leaves only Mister Richard Campbell Gansey the Third," Lynch mused. He finally finished his inspection of his new cabin and now was leaning on the desk and facing Gansey, his face emotionless, his eyes two cold blue fires.

"I've heard of your father, mate. He's an important one here and in London."

Gansey nodded once.

"Are you the only son?" Lynch continued.

Gansey nodded again. _No reason to deny the obvious, these things can be verified easily,_ he told himself.

"And how much will your father give for the life of his only son, I wonder?"

Lynch's mouth widened in an unpleasant nasty smile.

Gansey stood silent. How much, really? How much _would_ his father pay for his life? Gansey was sure that his father would pay whatever sum the pirates named, but - and here he thought hard - was it worth it?

Did he really want to go back to his life? Did he really want to be his father's heir and sit in his father's chair at his father's desk and do the work his father prepared for him? Something about this man, this Ronan Lynch, was very strange. He had manners of a gentleman, thoroughly hidden but it was there; he was from a rich family, Gansey was sure. Yet he was a pirate captain, he had his own ship and crew and did whatever he wanted. He lived life free of parental control. No father above him to tell what he should do. He was his own master, and he was Gansey's age!

_I can do just the same_ , the thought appeared on the outskirts of Gansey's mind, growing ever louder and closer. _I can be master of my own life. I just have to say that my father threatened to disinherit me and that was the reason of my journey to London. And I can stay here, aboard the ship. I can even join the crew. I can say I have some knowledge in navigation, Lynch will appreciate it. I can..._

"Jesus bloody Christ! You fall asleep, you ignorant pig?!" A high voice and a slap on the back of his head brought Gansey back to reality from his thoughts.

He concentrated on the angry face in front of him, on dark brown eyes framed with thick black eyelashes and full pursed lips; on a cluster of freckles and on dark full eyebrows, knitted in an angry line.

"Well? Are you playing mute now, mister Richard-the-fuck-your-name?" Miss Sargent demanded.

Gansey was ready to answer and opened his mouth, in fact, but at the same moment the doors to the cabin opened and a breathless man appeared in a doorframe.

"There's a ship on the horizon. Too far, can't see her colors."

"We will continue with you later. Don't get under my feet and don't do any stupid shit you will regret," Ronan advised and left the cabin hastily, giving the orders on the way. "Find me Mr. Stevens and Rob, at once!"

Miss Sargent shot a last devastating glance at Gansey and followed Ronan to the upper deck. Gansey had no desire to sit in the cabin, which meant he'd miss everything, so he too went to the upper deck to look at the ship himself.

He exited the cabin and heard Lynch's thunderous voice rolling over both ships.

"Cut the ropes, heave the anchors, I don't need to give you orders, you know everything yourself!"

Gansey went to the poop deck and watched the crews laboring. He tried to identify the colors in the distance but it was impossible even to detect a ship without the spying glass.

He used the time to think on the course of his actions. Should he really lie to the pirates? It was risky and dangerous and very, very unlike anything Gansey had ever done in his life. He'd be an outlaw, a ruffian, a scoundrel; well, every word proper gentlemen used for men who rebelled against society and decided to be masters of their own. Was he ready to cross the law? Gansey wasn't ready, he knew that. He grew up in a different world; he was another kind of a man, not like those people below. Huh, _below_. Wasn't that a very precise definition of how he really looked at those people? Were they really below him, noble Richard Gansey?

No, he wasn't ready to become one of them, not until he starts to count them as his equals, or as he starts to count himself as _their_ equal. The latter will be more accurate, Gansey thought. It's very unlikely that any of those men can be a proper gentleman, but Gansey can fall to their level; it can’t be very hard, can it? He dwelled on it still whilst the sails were set and both ships started to move in the opposite direction from the speck on the horizon - that is, the unidentified ship. People went to and fro, no one actually paying attention to him, as if the was a nobody, not the heir of Richard Campbell Gansey II. Finally, Rob approached him and said that the Captain wanted him in the cabin. Gansey nodded and followed Rob to the captain’s quarters.

Captain Lynch wasn't alone, of course. He was with Miss Sargent and Gansey walked in on the middle of a conversation.

"I know you want your own ship, Sargent, don't deny it," Ronan was speaking, "If you'll take it, _Rex Corvus_ is yours."

"Don't talk shit. Who will sail under a woman?" Blue sounded exhausted. "I'll tell you - nobody."

"That's bullshit! Those people take direct commands from you!"

"You know exactly why! Because they know that it ain't my commands! It's yours!" Now she sounded almost desperate, "Look, Ronan, don't get me wrong, I really appreciate the gesture and shit but it's impossible and you know it yourself."

"Alright," Lynch exhaled, "You have the point. Help me name this candy then."

"I say, name it _Pig_." Blue answered at once.

Ronan and Gansey both stared at her.

" _Pig_? Seriously? Is there any reasonable explanation? Merely an improvisation?" Ronan squinted his eyes at her.

"Why, you know me, captain! There always is an explanation to all my words and deeds. I am an example of reasonable thinking." Miss Sargent answered in an even voice.

Gansey wasn't sure whether she was joking or serious. Her face was plain and there wasn't a hint of a joke. Yet Lynch burst out with barking laughter.

"Aight then! Can't wait to hear the explanation!" He was still laughing.

"In the honor of her ignorant owner, of course!" Blue spat and looked at Gansey, at last.

Gansey had nothing to say. He had insulted her and she had a right to be angry. Besides, it's been only a couple of hours since the foolish occasion. Yes, she had all the rights to be angry at him. Still, her attitude towards him pained Gansey, stabbed at his pride and self-esteem. Not a woman _ever_ showed so much disrespect to him. It was so unusual and new, strange and unnerving. Gansey wanted to shout at the top of his lungs that he deserved respect from her, that he said nothing wrong; her behavior really was inappropriate for a lady! But given in a matter of hours he had changed his position from well-respected member of the noble society to a simple hostage, imprisoned aboard the ship that belonged to _him_ , he was aware he was somewhat at a loss. He remembered Adam’s words: _we have to stay polite._ This time he decided to keep his mouth shut.

When Miss Sargent realized that Gansey wouldn’t answer to her insult, she just spat at his feet and moved to the doors, shoving Gansey with an elbow to the ribs on her way off. Gansey endured the stab bravely, with stony face and puffed chest, his eyes on the windows of the cabin.  When he heard the sound of the doors clattering shut, he exhaled softly and eased his posture a bit. Lynch noticed that at once and sneered.

“She’ll made you regret your words, believe me. Can’t say it’s entirely your fault, though. Circumstances and shit, but honestly mate, what were you thinking?” Lynch’s face was calm; the mask that he wore amongst his crew was cast aside. Without furrowed eyebrows and predatory grin he looked much younger, Gansey thought _. Just a boy, like me or Adam or Noah_.

“I mean, I get it you were scared, bloody pirates all around you cocking their pistols at you, but mate? A mistress?” he shook his head a smiled sadly, “You’re lucky you’re still breathing, mate. She could’ve shot you, easily. If you weren’t worth a good ransom, you would’ve been a shark’s dinner by now.”

Gansey only nodded once, too shocked to reply properly; the realization slowly crept into his mind. He could’ve been dead and he would’ve been the one to blame. His blasted tongue would have been, in fact.

“Aight, cheer up a bit,” Lynch chuckled, clearly amused by the sight of Gansey, who must’ve been paler than him by now, “You’re rich and your money’s your life’s insurance. No one’s gonna kill you; I’ll look to it myself. You better tell me what this is and all.”

He placed a leather-bound journal on the table with a thud, then stood up from the chair and placed his hands on both sides of the journal. Gansey swallowed a lump in his throat and ran a thumb across his lower lip: a nervous tell. Lynch’s eyes tracked it.

“That is my journal,” he answered.

“So I’ve noticed,” Lynch said in a low voice. He was expecting Gansey to elaborate.

“You’ve looked through it, have you not?”

Lynch gave him a single nod.

“Well, then,” Gansey said, “What do you know about Owen Glendower?”


End file.
